


A Night of Lust

by Athenais_Penelope_Clemence



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006), Robin Hood (Traditional), Robin Hood - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Intimacy, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:53:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athenais_Penelope_Clemence/pseuds/Athenais_Penelope_Clemence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's set in S3E7. Isabella of Gisborne becomes Prince John's mistress, but she isn't happy with her choice. She doesn't love John, but he can give her power and wealth. She still remembers Robin Hood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night of Lust

**A Night of Lust**

Lady Isabella of Gisborne smiled with a slow, enchanting, and provocative smile that could make any man weak in the knees, craving for a more intimate contact with her. Today was a great day! She was appointed the Sheriff of Nottingham. Vaisey was dead, and Guy of Gisborne became an outlaw. Prince John liked her and invited her to his bed for this night. Her heart was blossoming.

The feast in the great hall was over, and Isabella was waiting for Prince John in her chamber. For their night date, she chose the most delicate, feminine and wicked garment she had ever seen in her life – a nightgown made out of the finest-spun silk, in a shade that rivaled the color of her steel blue eyes, with a deep inset of blue lace across the bosom and with a V-shaped deep-bosom neckline. She had to please the prince and thank him for what he had done for her tonight; she also wanted something else from him – to be free from her husband, and she would get what she craved.

Almost mesmerized by thoughts of her triumph, Isabella stood near the huge bed, dreaming of power and wealth. Then she heard the outer door open and shut, and she swung around. Her mouth went dry as she stared at Prince John who stood at the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his red silk night robe. The robe clung naturally to every line of his body, every curve, and every swell was clearly outlined. It was easy to realize that John was naked under the robe.

Prince John stared at Isabella, thinking that he was a lucky man to have her in his bed. She was very beautiful, with her steel blue eyes and her voluptuous body. He liked her cheeks flushing a shade of rose no flower could match for loveliness. She understood him so well, and she was using him for her purposes, but he was using her too. He had never met woman as ambitious, cunning, devious, crafty, and fierce in her desires as Isabella was – she was so much like him. He believed that she deserved to live a wonderful, glorious life with him, even though he couldn't marry her.

From the very first moment John had set his eyes on Isabella, he burned for her and missed her when they were separated. Now John again hankered to feel her skin against his own and to see the flames of desire in her eyes at a touch of his hand to her flesh.

Prince John laughed and walked to Isabella. He pulled her into his arms and brushed his mouth teasingly against her full lips. "I was waiting for this minute for so long," he whispered huskily.

Isabella smiled with a provocative smile. "I was waiting for you, my king."

She didn't love Prince John, but she was attracted to him and seduced by the idea of amassing power and wealth. He was an experienced lover, passionate, affectionate, and caring. John was so different from her husband, who had continuously raped her and had beaten her throughout the long years of her dreadful marriage that was like a purgatory that allowed no soul to leave its wretched borders until it had thoroughly suffered some kind of penance. Besides, being the prince's love interest was a feather in her cap, and she thrived obscenely in his attention.

There was a frankly carnal glint in John's eyes. His hands caressed her back and moved to cup her breasts, and then he pressed her hard to himself. "Well, then, I suppose I will be rewarded this night for my patience and loyalty to our deal."

His mouth captured hers, his hands lowering to her hips and pulling her firmly against him. She was pliant and breathless when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, blood thudding through her body.

"Milord, there is another thing."

"Anything to please a lady!"

Isabella glanced into his eyes. "I am still a married woman, milord."

"Ah, your husband… You still want to get rid of him?"

Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. "I want Squire Thornton dead," she said in a hissing tone. "You promised that he would die if I checked loyalties of Vaisey and Gisborne."

"And you played your role very well, my beloved Isabella."

She smiled with a satisfied smile. "And?"

"I myself will kill him!" Prince John pledged, brushing his lips against her ear.

Isabella was stunned into kind of pleasurable immobility, for the prince's kiss was hungry and possessive, even more possessive than kisses he had given her before. His lips, far too soft for male lips, moved over hers with gentle persuasion and firm insistence. His breathing mingled with hers.

Then the kiss ended, Isabella looked into the prince's eyes. "My king, are you telling me the truth that you will kill Squire Thornton?"

"Why are you bewildered, my love?" His voice was husky, his eyes dark and knowing. Lifting his hand to cup her cheek, he touched the pad of his thumb to her lower lip. "Have I ever deceived you?"

She smiled brightly. "No, you haven't. Never ever."

He smiled. "I will kill him myself. I will make him scream and writhe in pain before he dies. Would that be enough for you?"

She smiled. "More than enough."

He shoved back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. "You cannot imagine how much I will miss you after my departure to London. Ah, I would have stayed here for another week, but I cannot!"

Amusement glinted in her eyes. "I will miss you, too."

Prince John wanted Isabella with his entire being. No matter what she said or did, his body reacted to her manipulations with fierce desire to take her and make her his in all senses. Her seductive voice sent little frissons of pleasure and desire up and down his spine. Every time she gave him a dazzling smile, passion overcame him, and his loins swelled with heart-stopping desire. She was a witch and a temptress. He dreamt of kissing her and touching her perfect body; he wanted her with despair and fierceness and possessiveness, which he felt for a few of his lovers.

Straightening his shoulders, John fixed his mistress with a haughty glance. "I am the future King of England. I can do everything I want. I can have anyone in my bed. My subjects and ladies love me."

She tensed, then relaxed, reminding herself that she was playing with him. "Sire, but I surely love you more than others." She took one of his hands in her and kissed his fingers. "I have proved you that I can do everything for you, my king. I would have done everything for you."

"Isabella, you have proved your loyalty," he said sincerely. "I will also do everything for you."

She sucked in an uneven breath. "Thank you, my king."

"There has never been anyone like you in my bed, my Isabella," the prince whispered against her mouth. "You are a concoction of what I love in a woman."

Prince John pressed her closer, his hand sliding down her back and flattening her against his hard body as he rained down kisses, licks, and bites on her neck, her lips, and her cheeks.

"My king, you are so virile," she murmured with a sweet smile, but inwardly she cringed in disgust at the thought of how many women slept with the prince.

"I am the best lover, sweetheart," he whispered against her mouth. "Let me give you pleasure. Only pleasure." He smiled cordially. "I am not your husband. I will never hurt you, my love."

His body on fire, John lifted Isabella and carried her to the bed. He frantically tore at Isabella's clothing, and his seeking hands touched the warm, flesh of her bosom and denied no further exploration. Catching her hands in his, he pulled them behind her back and held them prisoner, his other hand caressing and fondling her breasts through the silk material of her nightgown. Isabella groaned and pushed herself against him, melting with the hot desire that coursed through her. A lecher by nature, John always liked playful and exotic lovemaking, and Isabella enjoyed it, too.

With her arms held prisoner behind her, Isabella could only twist in his embrace, the greedy hunger for him growing with every passing moment. John disentangled from her and took a step back, his lips stretched wide in a grin. A low growl erupted from him as he lay back on the bed and lifted her atop of him, with her nightgown bunched up around her waist.

She straddled him and began to slowly grind herself on top of him. John entered her in one powerful thrust, and Isabella moaned excitedly, her head thrown back in mindless rapture. She joined her lover in the eager race as she drove them both towards fathomless release. Soon, they convulsed on the bed as they reached their scarlet oblivion.

"I am impressed, my beauty," Prince John murmured thickly against her lips. His breath, warm and wine scented, wafted against her skin. "We have the whole night to pleasure each other."

Her mouth red from his kisses, Isabella shook her head. "One night is not enough with you, my king."

"Say it again!" The prince's face suddenly hard with desire, his lips were still faintly touching her cheek.

"Long live King John!" Isabella cried out earnestly, and happily kissed his chin and jaw.

"Oh, long live me." Her flattery inflamed him, and John kissed her so passionately that all coherent thoughts fled, and he drove himself into her, the whole of him fixed on pleasure from their encounter.

Later, Isabella lay in the prince's arms, her mood elevated but her heart heavy. She was only grateful to him for the power he gave her and for the fact that she would be given her freedom soon, when the prince would dispose of her husband. John loved her as he loved many other mistresses – he loved neither of them and only lusted after them. She didn't want to be one of many mistresses who entertained the prince in his bedchamber, but she would rather be a lover of  _a royal wastrel_ , who squandered his God-given royal inheritance in reckless living than a demeaned wife of a callous beast.

 _Isabella wasn’t happy at all. She wanted to be loved – to be loved truly, utterly, and unconditionally_. Her most cherished dream was to be the only true love in someone’s life, like Robin Hood loved Lady Marian of Knighton. She envied Marian that even after her death the woman still possessed Robin’s heart. Being the only love in a life of a man like Robin Hood was a beautiful dream, but Robin betrayed her when he rejected her proposal to run away from Nottinghamshire and be happy together. It was ridiculous to hate the dead woman, but she hated Marian and she also hated Robin.

Yet, Isabella couldn’t hate Robin Hood as much as she hated Guy of Gisborne – with each and every fibre of her heart and soul. She liked Robin from the start, when they had met in Sherwood Forest; she had extremely improper thoughts about Robin since then. She was stunned that Robin was a handsome man who made her able to suddenly fall into a pleasurable fit of passion and desire; nobody, not even Prince John, had ever affected her as much as Robin did. She and Robin were intimate only several times, but she always craved for more. Now, then her relationship with Robin was over and he had become her enemy, Isabella still imagined Robin’s slender body naked in a bed, his skin smooth over hard muscles, moonlight streaming into the room. She wanted Robin with her entire being, and she would have preferred to spend this night with Robin rather than with John.

The truth was that Robin’s rejection made Isabella very frustrated. She was greatly impressed with Robin, for he was a handsome, compassionate, tender, and noble-hearted man. He was a man whom she would have married at the first proposal and she would have never let him go. She could have loved Robin if the hero had chosen her instead of England, King Richard, and his gang, and most importantly instead of the dead wife. But Robin rejected her and their relationship was over.

Isabella shuddered as a feeling of powerful, burning hatred slashed through her heart as her mind drifted off to Guy. Good Heavens, she hated her brother most of all in her life. She wanted Guy to suffer. She wanted him to be as unhappy as she was since she had been married off to Squire Thornton and lived in Shrewsbury. She hated Squire Thornton with all her heart too, but she didn’t know whom she hated more – her husband or Guy; maybe she even hated Guy more than Thornton because Guy’s decision to sell her for money started many years of her unhappiness.

Each and every detail of her dreadful marriage was engraved in her memory forever. Only Isabella, her unknown fiancé, Vaisey, and Guy had been present at the wedding ceremony that had resembled more a funeral than a wedding. Dressed in an old, battered gown of white, heavy linen and wearing a silver cross on her bosom, Isabella had been an image of a pious merchant's daughter, looking like an aristocratic lady only in her proud posture. Her gown had been supplied by Vaisey who had borrowed it from the owner of the inn where they had stayed and only on condition that it would be returned to him immediately after the wedding night.

They had had a small feast after mass and ceremony, when Isabella had accepted the congratulations of Vaisey who had laughed at her and had said that she would have an excellent wedding night. Guy had been quiet and somber, fearing to look at her. During the ceremony and later celebration, Isabella had kept her face impassive, but her eyes hadn't sparkled in joy when she had cast brief, sidelong glances at her brother. She had pretended that she had listened to Vaisey's despicable and caustic comments and Squire Thornton's senseless chatter, wishing that she to be far away from them.

Despite her unwillingness to marry Squire Thornton, Isabella had truly intended to be a good and dutiful wife; she had planned to follow the rules her mother had taught her in childhood. The wedding night had been the worst experience in her entire life: Isabella had been brutally beaten and raped by Thornton, who had enjoyed the pain he had inflicted on her during their first intimacy.

"I like that you have bled, Isabella. You bled because you were a virgin and because I struck you a lot," Squire Thornton told her after he had taken her maidenhead. "Now we can start again when you are clean and when I feel that I want to make you mine again, wife. I will have you for my pleasure and delight. You will bear my heirs, and I will be content."

Sick and groggy, Isabella had complained that she had been physically hurting, but Thornton had laughed at her and had slapped her hard against her cheek. She had never been beaten by Guy and her parents, and she had raged at her husband, but in response he had punched her in her face and had continued beating her until she had been unable to stand on her feet and even hadn't have a bit of strength to moan. Then Thornton had put her to bed and called a servant girl to tend to Isabella's bruises. The rapist had explained that he had only punished Isabella for her own good and that if she had obeyed his rules and orders, he would never beat her again.

When Isabella had awoken after her wedding night, Guy had already been gone. Guy hadn't been aware of what she had endured on the weeding night. Feeling abandoned by her brother, Isabella had cursed him many times in her mind, hating him with all her heart. They had left Angers for England on the same day, in spite of the fact that Isabella had felt unwell and had had to wear her hood outdoors; her blue-black bruises on her face had been very visible. Squire Thornton had brought his young wife to Shrewsbury, where he still owned lands and wealth, which he had inherited from his father.

Isabella had never been happy with her husband. Throughout their gruesome marriage, their bed had been a battlefield of hatred and violence as Thornton had sought to subjugate her and had derived pleasure from causing his wife – his victim – as much physical pain as possible. She had never enjoyed their wild encounters! Their nights had been typical: the man had tied Isabella's hands to a headboard and then had taken her in any way he wanted, beating her in the process. Twice he had beaten her almost to death! Moreover, Thornton had also forced her to satisfy his needs in the most immoral ways, which, in Isabella's opinion, her mother and any decent would have been ashamed of thinking about.

Isabella had found consolation in the fact that Squire Thornton had slept with servant girls and peasants from Shrewsbury and had also visited a local brothel. She had always been relieved when her husband had slept with someone else and left her in peace. Besides, Isabella had quickly discovered that Thornton had both female and male lovers, from time to time sleeping with stable boys and male servants. She had grown to hate his mere sight, feeling disgusted when he had come to her after having intercourse with another man somewhere in stables or even in his own chambers.

Over time, Squire Thornton had become crueler and more sadistic because Isabella had failed to give him heirs. She had never gotten pregnant, and he had humiliated her, calling her a dirty bitch with an empty womb. But Thornton had never sired a bastard on one of his lovers, and perhaps, Isabella wasn't barren. Overall, Isabella was glad that her disastrous marriage was childless, for she would have never wanted her child to remind her of the nights with her husband she wanted to forget.

Isabella sighed deeply and looked at Prince John who peacefully slept in her embrace. It wasn’t the night of love for Isabella – _it was the_ _night of lust and calculation_ _._  She didn’t love John, but she needed him and she would be his mistress as long as it benefited her. She was very grateful to him for the power he gave her and would give her in the future. It was worth becoming Prince John’s mistress for a chance to be rid of her old life, her husband, and her brother.

In general, Isabella of Gisborne was content. She was the Sheriff of Nottingham. Vaisey was dead. Soon she would capture Guy and have him executed – she would make him die a slow and painful death. She would also capture Robin Hood and make him suffer; she would probably give Robin another chance to start their relationship anew, and if he rejected her again, she would kill him. Most importantly, she would have power and wealth, which would replace illusive happiness in her life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an insightful one-shot about Isabella of Gisborne and her relationship with Prince John. It was implied in the series that Isabella had a love affair with John, probably starting from the moment when Robin Hood rejected her because he could have a family only with Marian, definitely not with Isabella. This is my attempt to portray Isabella’s conflicted feelings and her attitude to Prince John.
> 
> I have been thinking a lot about Isabella of Gisborne. I know that she killed Robin Hood on the show, and it saddened me that Isabella was Robin’s murderess. I think the arc of Isabella’s development was partly wrong because she almost lost her mind somewhere in season 3, probably since the moment when Robin Hood rejected her affections. Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind if Isabella ended up with Robin after Marian’s death, if only she hadn’t become so cruel and so mad. Isabella is a much better option for Robin’s girlfriend and wife than Kate.
> 
> Though Isabella was a cunning, vile, and cruel woman, I do like her more than I dislike her. She had a difficult life, and her marriage brutalized her a great deal. I can understand why she hates men so much, but I definitely cannot side with her when she wants to have Guy executed and when she hunts Robin and eventually kills the hero. Yet, she still has a little sympathy from me.
> 
> Isabella is an interesting character, in some aspects more interesting than Marian.


End file.
